


"Later, you can hate me all you want"

by erintoknow



Series: Aria [8]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Female Friendship, Gen, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Transitioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 16:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19177372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erintoknow/pseuds/erintoknow
Summary: You can't afford to get hurt, so of course you've made your career that guarantees it.Anathema understands needing to keep secrets but she – she doesn't fully get it. Not really.





	"Later, you can hate me all you want"

**Author's Note:**

> [[Misfits Fight Song by My Robot Friend]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_nc6416in7s)

_Whoops_. The metal fist hits you in the chest dead-on. You can’t stop yourself from cursing as you fall backwards, lines of white pain lighting up and down your front. An extending arm…? No fair. Your hands flail the air for purchase and then your head hits something harder than it is.

…

…

…

“Sidestep?”

“Hey! Sidestep,” There’s a loud clapping sound. Right in front of you? “Now’s not the time for a nap!”

Crap. Your eyes flutter open, clear blue sky over you. The ground shudders and in the distance there’s the screech of metal crumpling. You groan and raise a shaking hand to check your head. Crap, it feels like you got punched in the chest. Wait.

A hand sticking out of a blue skin-tight sleeve reaches down and helps you sit up. You wince as your vision clears. “...Themmy?”

“Oh thank God.” She holds up a pair of fingers, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Four.” You say reflexively then wince. “N–no? Two? Meant two.” You stretch out with your mind to get a sense of what’s going on. But everything’s off. Wobbly.

Anathema kneels down next to you, supporting your back with one hand. “Shit. I think you might have a concussion.”

A concussion…? That sounds bad. Is that why everything’s so fuzzy? In the background there’s metallic bong of ringing metal and someone yells but you can’t make it out.

“Look, I gotta check your head, your eyes.” Anathema turns your head to look at hers, her face is pale. You’ve never really looked her in the face long enough before to realize all the freckles she has. That’s weird. “That means we have to take the mask off, okay? I’m sorry, I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“Wha?” You try to bat her hand away and miss. A heartbeat pounds in your ear but it’s like it’s a million miles away in someone else’s chest. “The mask’s gotta stay…” You manage to get out. No one can know. It’s too dangerous. Why is it dangerous? It’s on the tip of your tongue.

“Look, I’m sorry sis, later, you can hate me all you want, okay?”

What?

Anathema’s hands reach around to the back of your head, finding the edges where you’ve attached your full-face mask into your skinsuit. And then there’s a flash of dark and the world returns with strands of your hair falling over your eyes.

Anathema holds her breath, inflating her cheeks as she runs a hand over the back of you head, feeling for… something? Satisfied with whatever she finds… or doesn’t find, she adjusts her position and turns your face towards hers. The way Anathema stares into your eyes makes you uncomfortable. You have a flash of someone else staring at you like that. Examining. Then it’s gone. Just Anathema. “Hah,” you giggle, still woozy. “You look like a chipmunk.”

“Well, I see your sense of humor is unharmed.” Anathema wears a grim smile. “Pupils look normal, and no bleeding at least. That’s good. Head wounds are always a mess.” She pulls back from you and examines your mask, it looks so strange and small just sitting there in her hand. “You didn’t skimp out on the mask, that’s good. A lot of newbies do.” She hands the thing back to you. “Really conked your head hard there. Gave me a heart attack… I suppose there’s no chance of making you see a doctor after this?”

You shudder, start to shake your head but that just makes you hurt even more. “N-nope.” The ground shakes again and you grab Anathema’s shoulder to steady yourself. “What’s…?”

“After you got KO’d Steel covered me while I got you out of there.” Anathema shades her eyes, looking at something to the right. A building? Factory, you remember. Overgrown. Not used in years. The wall closest to you both has collapsed. Seemingly punched in, a haze of smoke drifting into the sky above. The two of you are in an empty parking lot. The phrase ‘old city’ floats to the top of your mind.

You look down at your mask, rubbing the fabric with your fingers. You know you should put it back on but it’s hard to get your thoughts in order. Start with something simple: “Where’s, uh, where’s Charge?”

Anathema raises an eyebrow at you, “You get one guess as to what she did the moment she saw you go down.”

You try to think back to what was just happening. Crap. Your head is killing you. Your chest too. You groan, hugging yourself as you hunch over, trying to will the pain to stop. Anathema frowns at that, “How bad does it hurt? Watch your posture, you might have bruised a rib.”

You hiss air through your teeth, willing yourself to get it under control. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. “Not like that,” you struggle to piece together the right words. “Like–” you put a hand over your breast and draw a line up to your armpit then down your side.

It takes Anathema a moment, then dawning understands. She covers her mouth, but her amusement is still plain to see in her eyes. “You got punched in the boob.”

Heat flashes across your face. “D–don’t make f–f–fun of me.”

Anathema nods, composing her face into a solemn expression. “Congratulations on passing this important milestone in your transition, my apprentice.”

You take a weak swing at her, which she easily dodges. “Shut up.”

Anathema cackles. “Better get used to it! Hrm…” She leans in and peers at your chest.

You frown, and angle away. “…Do you, um – do you mind?”

“Are you bra’ing it up yet?” she asks.

You furrow your brow, “Am I... what?”

“Are you wearing a bra yet, brah?”

You rub your temples, struggling to put your thoughts together. You really don’t have it in you right now to deal with Anathema’s puns. You hurt enough already, thank you. “That’s… personal?” You croak, “I mean… the skinsuit is supposed to–to–to be good for that, right?”

“Well, it’s not like you’re in costume twenty-four seven, right?” Anathema asks, incredulous.

You stare very intently at the weeds poking through the broken asphalt. “I just – well, um, I just keep the suit on. Un–under everything.” You admit. You close your eyes. Wow does everything ache.

Anathema’s silent long enough that you turn to look at her. She has this expression on her face like she’s thinking through a complex math problem. Finally, she shrugs and throws her arms up in the air. “Yeah, okay, I _guess_. Live your life ready to throw down at anytime. Healthy.” She frowns, looking at you. You wish she wouldn’t. “Still, hrm….” Anathema makes a ‘tsk’ sound as she taps her chin, “you started wearing those inserts recently right?”

You open your mouth speechless, and Anathema wags a finger at you. “Yeah, I got your number, girlfriend.” She pauses and the two of you wince as the ground shakes again. “Anyway, my whole point was going to be: I get why you want it Starstruck, but you might do better just getting a padded sports bra or something? It’ll hurt less on the next punch. Trust me on this one.”

A heavy crash from the factory grabs both of your attentions, and you can barely hear Ortega shouting orders at Steel. You close your eyes, trying to get a sense of what’s going on. All you really succeed at is making your headache worse. You can almost pick out Steel and the eight-armed freak in there. What was his name…? You can’t remember. Try to sense anything more and it slips away, like a handhold you can’t get a good grip on or a cymbal that keeps ringing. “We should be – _get_ in there,” you say.

You struggle to stand up only to have Anathema pull you back down. “I don’t think so, hotshot. It takes longer than a couple minutes to get over a concussion. Sorry, but the best way for you to help is by sitting the rest of this one out.”

You wince, and after a moment’s hazy thinking try a different tactic. “Anathema, you could, uh, still help at least.”

“I am helping. Right now in fact,” Anathema gives you a knowing look, “by making sure certain reckless girls don’t further injure themselves. Don’t think I don’t know the playbook, Ms. Starstruck.”

You want to fire back some cutting retort but the words don’t come. It bothers you to have Anathema here, mothering you when she could be helping finish the fight. When she could keep someone more worthwhile from getting hurt.

The conversation lapses into silence. Or at least the silence of having a three-person super fight in the background. Anathema catches you staring at your mask in your hands, and winces. “Again, I’m real sorry about that. I had to make sure you weren’t a scrambled egg under there.”

You bite your lip. “I don’t hate you,” you say. And to your surprise it’s not even a lie.

Anathema visibly relaxes, like she’s been holding her breath this whole conversation.

“Just… don’t – don't ever do it again, okay?” You stare her down, willing yourself to look as serious as you possibly can with a concussion. “I–I– don’t care if I have a – a rebar pole through my lungs, this–” You gesture at your skinsuit, “–this doesn’t come off. Ever.”

“Gee…” Anathema purses her lips and leans back, “Yeah, that’s a bad deal, I’m gonna have to pass.”

“I– I’m serious!”

“So am I. Don’t even try this with Charge, by the way. Death before dishonor?” Anathema shakes her head. “You’ll just piss her off.”

You can feel the frustration welling up through the brain haze. They don’t get it. They _can’t_. “Listen you don’t understand, I can’t – because I – I’m not–”

An explosion erupts from around the corner of the factory, and you both can see parts of the wall erupt outwards, embedding themselves into nearby buildings. A, now decidedly _no_ -armed, man staggers backward into the street and topples to the ground. You can hear Ortega whooping in victory from inside.

Anathema stands up and dusts herself off before she turns to look down at you with a sad smile. “Look I really do get it. Honest. But you can’t ask your friends to literally stand around and let you die.” She offers you a hand up. “Guess you’ll just have to be the world champion at dodging.”

You return her smile with a brittle one of her own. Can something like you really have friends? You reach up for her hand and let her pull you to your feet. “Guess so.”

“Now put your mask back on, Starstruck, or Charge will find out you have terrible hat-hair.”


End file.
